Page 109 of Power Shift

He releases a rough exhale. “Alright. I need you to go up to the second floor of the building and to apartment 203.”

“Why?”

“Ronan’s family lives there. If you tell them who you are, they’ll let you in, and I’ll come there as soon as I get to the building.”

“His family?” I echo, shock settling over every other emotion trampling over me. “I didn’t know they lived here.”

How didn’t I know that? Why didn’t he tell me? God, I’ve totally messed this all up.

“You can take that up with him later. Just go, Haven. Now.”

“You’ll be here soon?”

“I’ll be there soon. As fast as I possibly can.”

35

BRIAR

Apartment 203.

A simple set of gold letters and numbers is more intimidating than ever despite the bright flowery wreath partially concealing them. There’s still a shake to my hands when I raise one to knock on the door.

“I just knocked,” I whisper into the phone.

Landon’s voice is loud over the constant drone of the busy road he’s on. He must have been moving at superhuman speed because before I could ask if he was on his way, doors were slamming closed, and I heard an engine turn over.

“Do you want me to stay on?”

“No. No, I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be there before you know it.”

Footsteps on the other side of the door have me blurting, “Someone’s coming.”

“Ronan’s family are good people. Call me back immediately if you need me,” he demands.

“I will.”

“See you soon, Briar.”

I jump when the door opens. Before I can say a proper goodbye to Landon, I’m panic hanging up the phone and letting it hang at my side.

The woman who appears in front of me is familiar, every feature on her face replicated in Ronan’s. Deep brown eyes fix themselves on me as she pushes out a hip and leans against the door.

While I’ve never asked Ronan what designation his mother is, it’s easy to tell she isn’t an alpha. Not only are female alphas uncommon, but as I breathe in, there’s no scent jumping at me. Even with the chemicals in the air, I should be able to smellsomething. My guess is she’s a beta.

“Hello. Who are you?” she asks, not unkindly but suspiciously.

“I’m Briar. Ronan is my—I’m his . . .” I roll my lips, frustration blooming in my chest when I can’t wrangle together the right words.

The woman I assume to be Ronan’s mother tries to hide her surprise in response to my jumbled mess of words, but the upward tweak of her brows is impossible to miss.

“You know my son?”

“I do.”

“Come in, then. You can tell me more about how you know each other inside.”

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